


Harlots Holiday Challenge 2018

by dankscully



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: F/F, Harlots Holiday Challenge 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-05 01:43:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16801189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dankscully/pseuds/dankscully
Summary: 25 short Harlots fics for my holiday challenge!





	1. Mistletoe

Violet raised the heavy door knocker and beat it twice against the well-worn wood. While she waited for an answer, she studied the flaking black paint on the exterior of the door to the Wells’ residence. She’d spent a lot of time idly gazing at that chipping paint, waiting to be admitted. Sometimes with information, sometimes for trade, occasionally with unpleasant news that she hated delivering. Lately though, her heart had lifted when she stepped onto the threshold.

Hunt had given her a longer leash, allowing her to prowl the darker and dirtier streets, to pluck London’s secrets like weeds growing in the cracks between the cobblestones. It was the illusion of freedom, but it felt lighter than shackles around her ankles. And it meant that during her excursions she could divert her path to pass by Greek Street to visit Amelia before she returned home.

Charlotte had continued to allow Amelia and her mother to stay in the house after the engagement between Amelia and Hunt had dissolved. Violet wondered if Charlotte was simply trying to fill the place with kind and familiar faces in the fallout of Margaret’s hanging, but either way, it provided Amelia with a refuge from the streets and that set Violet’s mind at ease.

Violet was jogged from her reverie by the sound of a window opening somewhere above her, and the contents of a pisspot being hurled onto the street below. As she instinctively took a step back, she noticed a small piece of foliage hanging just above the Wells’ door. She cocked her head to the side and studied it for a moment. Mistletoe. At the entrance to a bawdy house. It was a good joke, she had to admit.

Just as an idea began to formulate in her head, the heavy black doors finally swung open. To her surprise it was Fanny that greeted her, not William as it usually was.

Fanny beamed, adjusting Kitty on her hip. 

“Violet!” Fanny exclaimed, and Kitty babbled an approximation of her name as well, thrusting out her little fingers to grasp at the bows on Violet’s dress.

Violet laughed, little Kitty was growing by the day, now nearly too big to be carried around everywhere. She had the same shock of red curls as both her mother and her namesake.

“Morning Fanny,” Violet replied, reaching a hand up to stroke Kitty’s hair, “Amelia in?”

“Upstairs, in her room.”

“Would you send her down?” Violet asked.

Fanny nodded and then retreated back the way she came, Kitty making little waving motions as they both disappeared around the corner.

Violet waved back, then settled herself against the doorframe whilst she waited. She listened to the sound of the girls in the next room eating their breakfast, Charlotte’s laugh rang loud and clear. Violet had wondered if the season might bring her low, so it lightened her heart to hear the evidence of high spirits. 

After a few minutes, Violet finally heard soft footfalls on the stairs. She glanced up just as Amelia rounded the corner, adjusting her drab grey shawl to draw it closer around her. As they made eye contact, her face lit up.

“Come out of the cold,” Amelia urged, striding forward to meet Violet.

With a sly grin, Violet grasped Amelia around the waist as she came within reach, pulling their bodies close. “Look up.” She whispered against Amelia’s ear.

Obligingly, Amelia tilted her head up. It took her a moment to catch on, but when she noticed the mistletoe hanging squarely above their heads she let out a bemused laugh.

In a flurry, Violet gathered Amelia to her and pulled her into an enthusiastic kiss. Amelia continued to laugh against Violet’s lips, reciprocating eagerly, joyfully. She slid her arms around Amelia’s waist and lifted her lightly off the ground, which elicited a little shriek of surprise and delight combined.

“Someone is going to see us!” Amelia whispered as Violet lowered her back to the ground.

Violet hushed Amelia’s giggling protest with a finger to her lips, then manoeuvred them into the entrance hall and out of the sight of any curious onlookers. Now hidden from view, she pressed Amelia’s body against the wall and kissed her in earnest. 

“You two!” William’s voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs, “Take it upstairs!”

Violet and Amelia broke apart immediately, in peels of laughter. Obligingly, Violet grasped Amelia’s hand and led her past William and up the stairs.

“I feel like we should be charging one of you,” William mused, “But I’m not sure which one.”

Violet barked a laugh and tugged at Amelia’s hand, drawing her further up the stairs and into Amelia’s room, away from the ears and eyes of the Greek Street residents.


	2. First Snow

Isabella was not sure how to fix this thing between them, but as she closed the distance between St. James’s and Greek Street she set her jaw and determined that she must make a start.

The door of the house stood black and looming, somehow imposing and inconspicuous at once. Her hand hovered at the door knocker indecisively. She could walk away from this. From this house, from Charlotte. From all the painful words that must inevitably be spoken between them. That would make her the worst kind of coward, of course, even if it might spare them both from further heartache.

Before the tendrils of doubt could creep further into her mind, Isabella grasped the brass door knocker and banged it against the wood. Once, twice. A third time for good measure.

She waited. It took all her strength to hold herself in place, to not let her courage falter. Then the door swung open abruptly and she was greeted by Charlotte, her face lit up with a brilliant smile.

“Charlotte,” Isabella breathed.

Charlotte’s face fell. Isabella expected the door to slam in her face, but it did not.

“Lady Fitz,” Charlotte replied, her tone measured.

“Please,” Isabella began, but found she did not have any words to follow. There were so many things she wished to say, but she couldn’t seem to muster them. The had all fled like deer startled by a gunshot.

“What do you want, Isabella?” Charlotte said finally, after the silence had stretched on for too long.

“I wanted to apologise,” Isabella began.

Charlotte cut her off with a curt laugh, “Well it doesn’t matter now, does it? The die is cast. You outplayed me.” She took a step back and moved to close the door.

“No,” Isabella pleaded, reaching out and placing a hand on Charlotte’s arm to keep her in place. Charlotte’s eyes darted down to the hand, then back up to hold Isabella’s gaze. Their breath, like little clouds, hung in the air between them.

“Please, let me try to mend this.”

Flakes of snow had begun to fall, and as the pair stood frozen like marble statues in the doorway, it began to collect in Isabella’s cloak and hair. Charlotte glanced up at the darkening sky and the falling snow and breathed out.

Isabella followed Charlotte’s gaze. “First snow.”

Charlotte closed her eyes, then exhaled deeply into the night, “Come in.”

\----

The lamps were just being lit in Greek Street as Amelia approached the Wells’ house. The chill was beginning to find its way through her clothes and into her bones so she quickened her pace - a warm hearth and good company was waiting for her not far away. As she spotted the house however, she paused mid-step.

Standing at the door, her back to Amelia, was a woman she’d never seen before. Perhaps out of habit, Amelia slipped away into the shadows to observe. The woman’s hood was drawn as if the wearer had intended to be discreet, but the plush fur lining her cloak and and fine silk of her dress signalled her as out of place immediately. A lady so well-bred should not be in a place like this at this late of an hour.

Amelia was not close enough to hear what Charlotte was saying, but it looked as if this woman was causing her some vexation. Just as it seemed as if Charlotte might slam the door and retreat inside, the woman placed a hand on her arm. As if by some magic, it stopped Charlotte in her tracks. The pair shared a few more words, and just as Amelia was beginning to feel the first flakes of snow seeping through her cloak, Charlotte ushered the stranger inside. As the woman entered, Charlotte paused and swept one last glance out across the street. Amelia stepped backwards automatically, further into the concealment of the shadows. Apparently satisfied they hadn’t been seen, Charlotte and the stranger disappeared into the house.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself by following them immediately, Amelia waited in cold as long as she could bear. After a minute or so, when the wet chill of melting snow dripping down her neck became too much, she finally decided her entrance would no longer be suspicious and she dashed across the road and into the Wells’ house.

As she ascended the stairs, she removed her cloak and shook snow and droplets of water from it, all the while turning over in her mind the meeting she had just witnessed. She was so distracted by her thoughts that when she pushed open the door to her room she almost didn’t notice Violet, perched on the windowsill like a cat, wrapped in the rough woolen blanket from Amelia’s bed.

“Your ma with you?” Violet whispered.

Amelia shook her head. “She decided to stay behind with the congregation. We have a few hours to ourselves.”

Violet smiled and patted the window ledge in invitation. 

“I saw Charlotte in the doorway just now,” Amelia began, as she padded quietly across the room, “with a lady in a very fine cloak. Charlotte looked upset until the woman touched her arm. There was something between them, something I can’t quite place.”

“She’s Lady Fitz,” Violet supplied, “Isabella Fitzwilliam, the Marquess of Blayne’s sister.”

“Do you know of everyone in this city?” Amelia asked, bemused. She settled herself in the window beside Violet, who drew the blanket around them both.

“Only the important ones,” Violet responded, pressing a kiss to Amelia’s forehead.

“What’s her connection to Charlotte?”

“They’re like us,” Violet answered, watching the surprise on Amelia’s face as she said it. “Only it’s worse for them, because everyone sees them. But me and you? We’re invisible. We’re just the rats in the gutter, nobody cares what we do. Charlotte and Lady Fitz have roles to play, and they can never have what they really want. That’s the tragedy of it.”

Amelia frowned and turned her head to watch the snow fall in steady flakes outside the window. Charlotte burned like a bright flame and she had attracted many wealthy and powerful moths, all beating their wings desperately to get close to their object of desire. They gave her money, and favour and security. It seemed the price she paid for it was her freedom to love. Amelia knew too well that poverty forces its victims to make cruel decisions, and for Charlotte that was a deal that had to be struck.

“Stop trying to solve all the world’s problems, Amelia,” Violet said quietly, a gentle smile on her lips, “It’s the first snow of the season. Enjoy it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it occured to me like halfway through writing this that I couldn't actually rememeber if amelia and isabella ever met? so uhh I'm just going to assume they didnt!


	3. Caught In A Blizzard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a little late, it kind of got away on me!

“It’s freezing out there!” Emily Lacey announced as she pushed open the doors, her voice cutting through the general din of the tavern, “Who’ll keep my cunny warm tonight?”

A mixture of laughter and unamused groans rippled through the room like a wave. One voice shouted anonymously, “Fuck off Emily, peddle your wretched snatch somewhere else!” 

“Oi! Who said that?” Emily shouted back, immediately trying to pick out the voice of dissent in the crowd. 

Knowing Emily would happily square up to fight her own mother, Nancy launched to her feet and was at her side in an instant.

“Come on, sit down and have something to eat,” Nancy urged, placing her hands on Emily’s shoulders to keep her in place.

Nancy guided Emily to the table where she and Lucy had been sharing a meal and a drink together. Emily plopped herself reluctantly down on a wooden chair and snatched a piece of bread from Lucy’s plate. This elicited an exclamation of protest from Lucy and a barking laugh from Emily, who gleefully popped the bread in her mouth.

“You’ve got a bigger stick up your arse than normal,” Emily quipped, leaning back in the chair, “What’s your problem?”

“What do you think?” Lucy spat back, her nerves still raw from her mother’s departure, “Go back to your gutter you nasty slit.”

“Enough! Both of you, stop hissing like a pair of tomcats,” Nancy interjected, slamming down her tankard, “Lucy, show Emily some kindness. You forget how quickly fortunes can change.”

Lucy and Emily exchanged an icy stare, but begrudging dropped their argument and picked at the rest of their meals in silence.

\---

Hunt pushed the door to the tavern open and held it for Violet, who slipped in quietly after him. Snowflakes clung to the curls of Violet’s hair, rested on the brim of Hunt’s hat and collected on his shoulders, a stark contrast against the black of his jacket. As they made their way to an unobtrusive corner of the room where they might scope out the comings and goings of the patronage, Emily’s shrill voice penetrated the clamour of the establishment.

“Still spying on us then, Violet? Still a traitor for your master?”

“She’s still less of a two-faced bitch than you,” Lucy volleyed back immediately.

Nancy slammed her drink down on the table again, her eyes flashing with such anger that Violet thought she might flay them both on the spot, “I will not tell you again to be civil!”

For her part, Violet restrained herself from spitting curses back at Emily, and instead followed Hunt to the quieter corner of the room he had chosen. 

“Do they t-t-trouble you often, Violet?” Hunt asked as he removed his wet spectacles and wiped them with a square of linen from his pocket.

Violet shrugged. “Emily is scared. You and me and her, we all know there’s no justice in this world. She thinks I’ll sell her out.”

Hunt frowned and watched with some fascination from across the room as Emily drained the rest of her beer in one. 

“She’s like a cat. She’ll land on her feet soon enough,” Violet remarked, as she indicated to the keep for two drinks of their own.

\------

At that moment the wind whipped up violently and made the doors and windows all rattle violently. William pushed open the door amidst the clamour and entered, snow fluttering in after him.

“Lucy!” he called as he crossed the room towards where Lucy sat with Nancy and Emily, “I’ve got orders from Charlotte to get you home before this infernal weather traps you here.”

“Sit down, Will,” Nancy replied, leaning back in her chair, “Wait for the worst of it to blow over. Have a drink with us.”

William grumbled as he dropped heavily into a chair, “You think this storm is going to clear? On your head if it doesn’t.”

Nancy smirked and slid a tankard towards him, “One drink.”

\------

Almost precisely one drink later, Amelia managed to pull the door of the tavern open, holding it just long enough for her mother to enter. Just as she let go, the wind picked up and slammed the heavy door behind her, covering them in a light powder of snow. As she guided her mother inside, she rubbed her hands together and blew warm breath onto her exposed fingers.

“This is a den of vice, Amelia,” Florence hissed, stopping in her tracks.

“It’s _warm_ , mother!” Amelia replied, exasperated, “We cannot walk home in this storm, it’s too cold and we can barely see our hands in front of our faces.”

Amelia didn’t notice the sour expression on her mother’s face as her attention was caught elsewhere: Violet and Hunt huddled in the corner of the room, engrossed in their task of keeping tabs on the criminals and wretches that undoubtedly lurked in the shadier corners of this sort of establishment. 

“Scanwell!”

Amelia and her mother both turned at the sound. Lucy Wells beckoned them over with a wave of her hand.

William groaned. “That’s our cue.”

He pushed back his chair and stood. Will had grown tired of preachers in his house almost as soon as they’d set foot in it, and he didn’t much care to be trapped in a tavern during a snowstorm with them.

“Come on, Lucy,” he urged, grasping her elbow to guide her to her feet.

“You’re not going out there, are you?” Amelia asked as William approached, concern in her voice.

“We’ll manage.”

William pushed past Amelia and her mother, Lucy in tow just behind him, and headed for the door. He grasped the handle in one hand and placed his hat firmly on his head with the other. As he pushed the door outwards, the strength of the wind immediately ripped it out of his grasp and it flung wide open. A flurry of white nearly engulfed them both, snow battering their faces with enough force to send them stumbling backwards and William’s hat to fly straight off his head and down the road until it vanished. On the ground, the snow had already begun to pile up significantly, to the point where it might almost be unpassable. 

“Pa, I think they’re right. We can’t go out there.” 

With some effort, William managed to wrangle the door shut. By this time, Hunt and a few other onlookers had risen from their chairs an begun to approach.

“Do you think c-c-conditions will w-worsen?” Hunt asked.

William nodded. “I don’t think any of us are going home tonight.”

With that, a whisper rippled around the room, gradually growing in volume until the whole tavern was in an uproar.

“A drink for all of you, on the house!” the keep announced, raising a tankard, to the cheers of practically every person in the room.

“Well, if we have to be trapped somewhere, at least it’s somewhere with drink,” Nancy remarked.

Lucy patted a free chair next to her at the table, “Amelia, Mrs. Scanwell, sit with us.”

Florence froze but Amelia placed a hand on her arm. “Lucy Wells will do us no harm, mother.” She soothed, then guided her mother to a seat at the table and then took the one next to Lucy for herself. Emily pushed a drink towards Amelia silently, and winked. 

Soon the alcohol was flowing freely and spirits began to rise. Emily had found the lap of a man to sit on and a bawdy song had started up amongst the harlots. Nancy and Will were in deep conversation, and Lucy was trying in vain to find some common ground between herself and Florence.

Luckily she was quickly saved from her failing attempts by Hunt. Amelia diverted her gaze away from him as he approached their table. It had been more than a month since they had last spoken, and she didn’t think she could bear the embarrassment of trying to make small-talk for the whole night if he chose to join their party. Hunt offered Amelia an awkward half-smile as he turned the felt rim of his hat nervously in his hands, before addressing Florence.

“Mrs. Scanwell? I’ve managed to s-s-secure a room for you, so that you may have a p-place to rest tonight.” 

Florence’s face lit up, “God sends me an angel in my hour of need” she exclaimed. Lucy rolled her eyes.

“Come, Amelia, let us retire.”

“I’m s-sorry, Mrs. Scanwell, the only r-r-room left was a single bed.” Hunt apologised.

“I’ll be fine here, mother. You know these are good people.”

Florence clenched her jaw. She seemed to be formulating something to say, perhaps to espouse their friends wickedness, but instead she simply said, “Very well.” 

“Allow me, Mrs. S-s-scanwell,” Hunt said, gently taking Florence’s arm in his own, “I will h-h-elp you up the stairs.”

The remainder of the table watched Florence and Hunt depart and head towards the stairs with barely concealed amusement.

“Do you think he has designs on your mother?” Lucy asked snidely, downing a mouthful of beer.

Amelia surprised herself by laughing, “They’d make quite a couple.”

Lucy laughed at Amelia’s flippancy, then said, “You know, you’re nothing like I imagined you to be, when we first met.”

There was a gentleness in Lucy’s voice, and Amelia couldn’t help returning a smile.

“Nor are you,” she replied.

\-------

As the night grew longer, the tavern grew louder and more rowdy as the entire patronage were soon deep in their cups. Emily scrambled onto a table and raised a tankard high into the air. She stomped her boot on the wood to get the attention of the wayward crowd.

“Ten shillings says she falls,” William remarked, lifting his cup in Emily’s direction. Nancy snorted.

“To Margaret Wells,” she announced, thrusting her beer skywards and sloshing it all over herself in the process.

“To Margaret!” the entire tavern chorused back, with William’s voice the loudest amongst them.

Emily launched into a bawdy song and almost immediately a hurdy-gurdy and a flute were taken up, following her tune.

“Half a sovereign could buy delight  
And I would love you dearly  
If you would stay with me all night  
And be gone in the morning early,”

Emily began and the rest of the patrons continued. Amelia could not help thinking she looked like a preacher at a makeshift pulpit, and the audience her congregation. As cups began to bang against tables and feet began to stomp, Amelia heard a familiar voice join the chorus behind her.

“I said that she would be my queen, and I would never wrong her,” the voice sung, close to her ear. 

Amelia turned her head. Violet smiled at her, and Amelia smiled back as if it were contagious. Violet found her hand and squeezed it gently.

“You’ve been a stranger these past weeks,” Amelia murmured, low enough that only Violet could hear.

“I know,” Violet conceded, “It’s been hard to get away from Hunt. I didn’t intend it.”

“I’ve missed you,” Amelia whispered, so close that Violet felt the warmth of her breath against her cheek.

The song came to a final crescendo with Emily throwing up her skirts in a flourish and the crowd pounding their fists and tankards against the tabletops. Violet let out a whistle and Amelia laughed. Though the singing had ended, the musicians continued to play, giving the patrons a tune to dance to.

“Come on then,” Violet said, holding her hand out to Amelia.

Amelia shook her head, “No, I’m no good at dancing.”

“Look around you. Nobody is.”

\--------

Hunt surveyed the scene before him: Emily Lacey and Lucy Wells were on a table at the far end of the room, having clearly put their dispute aside as they danced arm in arm. Men below them tossed coins and groped at their dresses, to which they just threw back their heads and laughed. Lucy’s father, William North, seemed to be completely oblivious to his daughters antics, as he and Nancy Birch drank together several tables away from the main event. In the crowd he picked out Violet and Amelia, who seemed to be having a merry time together, dancing hand in hand to the jaunty tune the musicians played. They both looked the happiest he’d ever seen them, which confused and concerned him in equal parts.

With a resigned sigh, he lifted his tankard and drained it of the last of his beer. Then he called for more. 

\-------

The sun began to rise and peek through the windows, throwing the cold hard light of day on the aftermath of the night before.

William and Nancy had yet to sleep, instead they sat huddled closed at their table, commiserating with each other and celebrating the woman they had both loved so dearly, Margaret Wells. Lucy had fallen asleep with her head in her Pa’s lap, his hand in hers.

Amelia’s head rested against Violet’s shoulder, the pair having settled in a warm spot against the wall by the fire. They slept deeply and soundly in each other’s arms, for once allowed to be together in plain sight of the entire world.

Hunt had fallen asleep in his chair, his head lolling backwards, mouth open. Every now and then, he would jolt himself awake with his own snoring.

Emily truly was a picture, laying face down on a table. One arm draped over the side, whilst the other clutched a spilt tankard, the contents of which pooled around her head and dripped onto the floor. Her snoring echoed through the otherwise silent tavern, matched only in loudness and intensity by Hunt’s.

Outside, the storm had settled. When they woke, the patrons would finally be able to leave, to continue on with their lives and to presumably try to forget the night that had just passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Emily sings is "Cold and Raw" by Thomas d'Urfey. Believe it or not I actually had trouble finding a good bawdy song for her to sing!


	4. Too Much Holiday Cheer

Amelia felt heat under her skin, like fire, that radiated outwards. She knew her cheeks must be flushed, her eyes unfocused. She heard herself laugh, disembodied and disconnected.

The gin had been a charity. A sad, dishevelled woman had pushed the bottle into her hands earlier that day and told her, “This is the Devil’s liquor,” and that it would lead to her ruination if she did not part with it. Amelia had traded the gin for bread and cheese from her alms basket and prayed that the woman would find solace somewhere other than the bottom of a bottle. However, she had been at a loss for what to do with the alcohol, until Violet made the obvious suggestion: drink it.

Amelia wondered if it might lead to her ruination, too. She could see the temptation of the drink and its effects - the light headed cheeriness, the enveloping warmth. Like a spell had been cast over her eyes to make the world seem softer. And Violet. Violet was always beautiful, always enchanting, but at this moment all Amelia wanted to do was run her fingers over every inch of her skin. She wanted to kiss her until they both came up gasping for air, panting. Wanted Violet to touch her in all the secret, forbidden places that would surely send her to the depths of Hell.

She took another sip, wincing at the foul burn as the liquor slid down her throat, and let her forehead fall against Violet’s. Life in the gutter had taught her in numerous painful and violent ways to embrace the moment, to enjoy the delicacies of the night in case it was your last. At least, that is what she would tell herself in the morning when she nursed her pounding head and faced her mother’s ire. 

Violet’s thumb traced over the contour of her jaw, her breath heavy and hot against Amelia’s cheek. Amelia parted her lips expectantly, inching closer until they met. Violet’s tongue slipped into her mouth and the taste was like mana from Heaven. Her eyes fluttered closed.

Down, down in to Hell they fell, together. To Amelia’s beautiful, ephemeral ruination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of want a drink, now.


	5. Snowball Fight!

Greek Street had transformed overnight into a snow-covered wonderland. Where previously the dirty cobbles were slick with horse manure and the contents of piss-pots, now they were covered in a blanket of pure white. When the snow melted the remaining mush would most likely leave the street in a worse mess than it had looked before, but for now, there was a sort of magic about it.

Lucy took a tentative step out of her front door, watching as her boot sunk into the virgin snow. Wrapping her cloak a little tighter around herself as protection against the chill December air, she set off down the street.

She had barely made it past the next house before she heard a voice behind her.

“Mind your head, sprat!”

Lucy spun around just in time to be caught directly in the face with a snowball. She staggered backwards, reeling from the sudden attack, and wiped her face with her gloved hand. 

“Charlotte!” she shouted back, “You’re wicked! I’ll kill you!”

Charlotte’s laugh rang loud and clear through the empty street, and she bent down to scoop a another handful of snow as ammunition. It was the first time since their mother’s transportation that Lucy had heard Charlotte’s laugh and thought it genuine. Not something contrived to make men feel as if she was truly in awe of their wit.

Lucy balled the snow tightly in her hand and took aim. As the snowball sailed through the air, Charlotte let out a shriek and tried to dodge out of the way. Instead, she slipped and fell with a soft thud in the pillowy snow. Lucy could not help her laughter at Charlotte’s misfortune, but she ran immediately to her sisters side to offer her a hand up.

Charlotte took the proffered hand and instead pulled Lucy down with her, cackling with glee as she tumbled to the ground.

“Curse you for a whore!” Lucy laughed, flopping back into the snow in defeat. 

Charlotte fell on her back beside Lucy and the pair lay side-by-side, in convulsions of laughter, until the street began to bustle with morning thoroughfare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Wells sisters, and I could write them all day tbh!


	6. The Twelfth Night

The Wells’ house was bright with candlelight, and decorated lushly with boughs of evergreen. A large table sat in the centre of the drawing room, piled high with plum puddings and meats of all descriptions. Amelia had never seen so much food in all her life, and wondered idly how Charlotte afforded it all (though she suspected the one guinea charge for men at the door might help cover the expenses).

Brandy flowed freely, and no sooner had she stepped over the threshold, a cup of it was pressed into Amelia’s hands. It was warm and slipped easily down her throat, settling in her belly like a smouldering fire. The whole affair was a decadent feast for the senses and she felt she must be committing several sins just by being there. As she wandered from room to room she couldn’t help feel underdressed in her drab grey clothes when all around her were men and woman in fine, bold-coloured silks. 

Suddenly, from behind her, she felt two warm hands reach around and cover her eyes.

“Guess who?” hot breath ghosted across the back of her neck and tickled her ears, and Amelia recognised the voice immediately.

“Hunt let you come!” she spun around to face Violet, and wrapped her arms around her in a tight, tender hug. 

“There’s lots of important people here tonight, someone has to be his eyes and ears,” then she added snidely, “Since he didn’t get an invite.”

Amelia frowned. “So you’re here for business and not pleasure?”

“Oh, I think I’ll have time for a little pleasure,” Violet replied slyly, and manoeuvred them backwards into the shadows of the corner of the room, where they wouldn’t be noticed so easily. 

Violet snatched a bright emerald cloak from where it had been discarded over the back of a chair, and slipped it over Amelia’s shoulders, tying the ribbon at her throat, “There, now you look like one of us. Nobody will know it’s you.”

And with that, she leant forward and nipped at Amelia’s jaw, then pressed a line of kisses down her neck to her collarbone. Amelia laughed, tilting her head back to allow Violet better access. As Violet’s kisses trailed down almost to her breasts, Amelia thought the green cloak did nothing to disguise her identity, but she wasn’t entirely sure she cared. Besides, they were surrounded by men and woman engaged in exactly the same activity, who would notice them in such a sea of lust?

\----

The party continued on long into the night, getting progressively more raucous the drunker the guests got. The women of several houses, the Wells’, Nancy’s and Harriet’s, were draped over the furniture, in various states of undress. Someone (a Lord of Somewhere-or-other that Violet had pointed out to Amelia earlier in the night), had brought a monkey clothed in a beautiful, tiny silk dress. It had been wreaking havoc for hours and was now perched on a chandelier, clutching a glass of wine that it had liberated from some poor perplexed party goer. 

Amelia watched the poor thing, ripping at its clothes and lapping at the stolen wine, swinging wildly above everyone's head. She thought it seemed a fair portrait of the aristocracy themselves. Just as she decided she should find Violet to show her, Charlotte’s voice called loudly above the mayhem.

“A piece of the Twelfth Cake for all!” she exclaimed, holding the elaborately decorated centrepiece of the table aloft above her head.

The cake was distributed amongst the guests, including Amelia. It didn’t taste nearly as good as it looked, but she knew better than to refuse a meal, so she finished it with gusto.

“Oh!” Fanny suddenly exclaimed, pulling something out of her mouth, “I’ve got the pea!”

“Behold!” Charlotte announced loudly to the guests gathered around her, “Your queen!”

Violet appeared, seemingly out of thin air, with a crown of greenery - mistletoe, holly and pine. She passed it to Charlotte who placed it delicately on Fanny’s head.

“Oh, I’ve never been Queen of anything before,” she adjusted the crown on her head and beamed.

“And this makes me your king,” Noah replied, holding aloft the bean he’d just removed from his slice of cake.

“Four guineas for the Twelfth Night Queen,” Charlotte said to the assembled crowd, “A ride with Fanny Lambert will bring you good fortune for the new year!” then, she added, “And two guineas for the King, ladies.”

“Oi! I’m not yours to give away!” Noah protested.

“Two guineas,” Harriet repeated, with a smirk.

“Hey! I came here to buy not sell!”

\----

As the sun rose, the remainder of the guests not asleep or too bedraggled to stand, took to the task of removing every piece of greenery from inside the house. The branches of evergreen, the boughs of mistletoe and holly, were all dragged from the house and onto the street outside. All along Greek Street, other households were in the process of, or had already done, the same. Nobody wanted to risk the bad luck of leaving it up.

When the decorations were all in a pile in the snow, Charlotte stepped forward and set it alight.

It took quickly, and within moments it began to burn brightly.

“Well,” Charlotte began as she wrapped an arm around Lucy’s shoulders, gazing into the flames, “There’s the end to this miserable year.”

The Wells sisters glanced at each other and shared a smile, both hoping that the following year would bring more joy and less sadness than the last.


	7. Spices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, some smut! if that's not your thing, just skip to the next chapter!

Amelia closed her eyes. Delicately, Violet took a sash of red silk and blindfolded her, tying the ends in a loose knot at the back of her head. She could hear the drum of her own heart in her ears, like a runaway horse, excited and terrified. Violet ran her forefinger over Amelia’s dry lips, then down over her chin, then further to trace the fluttering pulse in her neck, dipping into the hollow of her collarbone. Down, down. She stopped, teasingly, where the rough linen of Amelia’s dress met flesh.

Violet’s hands retreated, and Amelia heard her fumble with something.

“I want you to taste this,” Violet whispered, suddenly very close.

Amelia nodded. She would have done anything for Violet in that moment, would have fallen at her feet, would have followed her into the Thames and drowned if she’d asked it of her.

She felt Violet’s fingers against her lips again, then they slipped gently into her open mouth. They were covered in a dry powder, and obligingly Amelia licked the substance off, sucking them until it was all gone.

Whatever it was tasted almost peppery, but without the bite. Some sort of sweet spice. There was an underlying floral, slightly earthy flavour that she detected in the aftertaste. 

“What is it?” Amelia breathed, licking her lips.

“Nutmeg,” Violet responded, “It’s exotic, rare. Like you.”

“Who did you steal it from?” Amelia asked, her lips quirking up in a teasing smile.

She was silenced by Violet’s mouth on her own, hungry, desperate. Her tongue parted Amelia’s lips and slipped into her mouth, greedily tasting the spice still lingered there. She felt Violet’s fingers at the hem of her dress, and soon they were exploring upwards. Amelia broke away from the kiss to catch her breath, panting hard. Violet's mouth was on her collarbone, her free hand at the laces of her corset. Amelia had no idea what to do with her own hands, she could not see Violet to touch her. There was something about her own helplessness that she found she was enjoying. 

Violet had managed to free Amelia from her corset, and she pulled away the material at her chest. Her lips were on Amelia’s breast in a second, her tongue flat against the peak of her nipple. Amelia moaned, and she felt Violet smile against her skin at the reaction she’d caused. Violet’s teeth graze lightly against the sensitive area, and she alternated between licking and sucking.

Amelia held her breath. Violet’s fingers grazed the curve of her inner thigh, teasingly slowly. She felt like she might go mad with desire. Violet’s index finger traced over where she was wet and desperate, where she’d been taught to never touch herself. They traced her lips, teasing, tempting.

Then she felt one of Violet’s fingers slip inside her, and she gasped. Her thumb found her clit and rubbed gently, rhythmically. Every time Violet touched her it felt like a revelation, and epiphany. She did not care whether she was damned for indulging in the sins of the flesh, how could anyone deny such ecstacy?

Another finger joined the first and Amelia rocked herself against them, moaning senseless words against Violet’s neck. 

“Come for me,” Violet breathed, parting her lips from Amelia’s breast for just a moment.

Amelia clenched her legs around Violet’s hand as a third finger entered her, and she ground against them in earnest. She heard herself curse and moan with abandon, strangely disconnected, as if her body was acting independently. She could feel the heat building low in her belly, and she thrust herself hard against Violet’s fingers until she felt the bones of her knuckles.

With a final, low moan, Amelia rocked herself to completion, the sensation low in her body exploding outwards like fireworks. She came to a slow, shuddering stop, riding the wave of pleasure until she was spent. 

Amelia breathed hard, feeling the damp of sweat clinging to her forehead. She leant forward and dropped her head onto Violet’s shoulder. 

“You’re beautiful,” Violet murmured into her hair, one arm reaching around Amelia’s waist to draw her impossibly closer, “I’d rather have you than all the rare and exotic spices in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ate a mouthful of nutmeg for this fic. it wasn't great! but at least nobody can accuse me of not researching my writing.


	8. A Terrible Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!! sorry for the absence. I went away for a few days and got behind! anyway, I'll most likely skip a few prompts so I can actually catch up, but I'm still here to bring you some good good harlots holiday cheer!

Amelia jolted back in her chair as a package suddenly slammed down onto the table in front of her. It was small and flat, poorly wrapped in brown paper, and tied up with a piece of string. She glanced up and found Violet standing in front of her, an expectant smile on her face.

“What’s this?” Amelia asked, lifting the package to examine it.

“It’s Christmas, Amelia.” Violet replied, rolling her eyes as she dropped into the chair opposite, “It’s a gift.”

“Oh, I didn’t-” Amelia began, but Violet shook her head to silence her, pushing the object across the table towards her.

“Open it.”

Amelia glanced back down at the present. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given one, truth be told. She lifted the package and turned it over once in her hands, then gently tugged at the brown string that held it together. It all came apart at once, and Violet’s gift fell onto the table in front of her.

A garter. Purple with frills and bows, velvet and lace.

Amelia stared at it for a moment, frozen.

“Why-” she began, but couldn’t find the rest of the words to continue.

“It’s tradition to give them to girls after their first time,” Violet offered, by way of explanation, “I didn’t have any money then, but-”

Amelia suddenly grabbed the brown paper wrapping and hid the garter as fast as she could manage, hands moving lightning fast to conceal the object in case someone might see. The pink flush of her cheeks crept all the way up to her ears. 

“This is a terrible gift!” Amelia hissed.

Violet barked a laugh, “Happy Christmas to you too! At least I got you something!”


	9. By The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope every forgives me for being a bit too ambitious by giving myself 25 prompts, I'll be lucky if I finish half that! I'm picking my favourites from the ones that are left to take us through to christmas, so I hope yall enjoy the next few days of fics! thanks everyone who has commented or left kudos, I truly didn't know if anyone would bother reading these, haha!

Violet had found Amelia at the Russell Street corner of Covent Garden Market handing out alms and blessings to the poor - her mother, mercifully, not by her side.

“Hunt’s gone to visit his family,” Violet had said, on her approach. Amelia had raised her eyebrows at this, a little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Violet reached into Amelia’s basket and helped herself to some bread, “I never really thought about Hunt having a mother. I just assumed he’d hatched.”

Amelia raised her hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh.

“Anyway, he’s left me to look after the house,” Violet continued, around a mouthful of bread, “Join me?”

“I’ll think about it,” Amelia responded wryly, watching Violet pick apart her food, “That bread is for the poor.”

Violet rolled her eyes, “We are the poor.”

\----

Violet closed her eyes. It was warm by the fire, where she sat in one of Hunt’s battered armchairs. Amelia sat on the floor in front of her, her head resting against Violet’s inner thigh. They’d helped themselves to wine and some gin Violet had found stashed away deep in the recesses of a desk drawer. “Do you think he’ll notice?” Amelia had asked and Violet had shrugged. She’d made it plain to Hunt from the beginning that she was only begrudgingly his servant, and so far he hadn’t thrown her back in gaol for her insolence.

She opened her eyes and slipped her fingers into Amelia’s hair. Messy and wavy, finally free from being tucked up in a bonnet and plait all day. Amelia was always hidden. By her mother, by her modest clothes. Sitting there between Violet’s thighs - Amelia felt like a secret only she knew. She wished more than anything that they had all the time in the world to explore each other, unravel each others mysteries. But they didn’t. They lived in snatched moments like this.

“Someday we’ll live in a house of our own,” Amelia murmured, her breath warm against Violet’s thigh, “A little house. We’ll sit by the fire each night and read to each other.”

Violet smiled. Her instinct was to retort with something filthy, something about how she’d rather ride her than read to her. But she enjoyed the quaint future Amelia had in mind for them more than she cared to admit, and so she held her tongue and said instead. “I’d like that.”


	10. Solstice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't actually one of my prompts but I wanted to write something for the solstice! tomorrow is the summer solstice for me and winter solstice for you all in the northern hemisphere. To those who celebrate it, I hope you have a good one!

Amelia stood at the window of Violet’s old room in Nancy’s house. With Betsey gone, and Violet living with Hunt, the room had been left empty. Nancy had said it felt wrong to rent it to a stranger, at least not yet, and so they’d come to the agreement that Amelia and Violet could use the room when they needed privacy. “When we want to fuck out of earshot of Hunt or you mother,” Violet had said, and Amelia had blushed down to her toes.

Outside, the sky was beginning to darken, and all around candles and lanterns were being lit, like dozens of twinkling little stars. Amelia felt Violet’s hands slip around her waist, then the rest of her body followed, a warm, welcome presence.

“It’s getting dark already,” Violet mused as she pressed a light kiss against the hairline at the back of Amelia’s neck.

“It’s the shortest day of the year,” Amelia supplied, tilting her head slightly to allow Violet better access, “The winter solstice.”

“That sounds a bit pagan for you,” Violet teased, peppering a trail of kisses down Amelia’s neck and across her exposed shoulder blades, as one hand played idly with the fabric of her shift.

Amelia laughed lightly, leaning back into Violet’s embrace, “It’s not as late as it looks, is what I’m trying to say.”

“Are you trying to tempt me to stay, Miss Scanwell?” Violet whispered playfully against Amelia’s ear.

“I hate parting with you,” Amelia murmured.

“I like parting your legs,” Violet volleyed back, without missing a beat.

Amelia laughed and shook her head, but she did not reply.

After a while, a silence settled on them. Violet let her chin rest on Amelia’s shoulder and gazed out the window at the falling snow. Violet drew in a deep breath, and Amelia realised she was breathing in her scent. The thought of it touched her, that Violet might think on this later and remember what she felt like, what she smelled like - a moment preserved in time. Amelia closed her eyes. There were no verses or chapters in the Bible that could guide her or instruct her on her feelings for Violet. They just were. It was a tenderness that gripped her heart and refused to let go. And she had read and read, scoured every page, and truly she could not find a line to condemn it. 

“We’ll find a way,” Violet breathed, “We’ll find some way to be together. I promise.”

Amelia wanted nothing more in her life than that. But for now she would settle on this moment. This quiet solstice spent in Violet’s arms, safe and warm and very nearly happy.


	11. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to post tomorrow so here's the last fic, just in time for christmas eve! Happy holidays everyone!

Amelia woke face down on a pillow, tangled in the sheets. It was certainly not how she usually woke. Under one arm she clutched an empty bottle, held close to her chest like a lover. Her head was pounding like a drum beat, as if a loose horse had galloped over her skull in the night. On top of it all she felt so nauseous she was worried she might be sick in her bed.

Someone stirred beside her.

Amelia’s eyes snapped open - she realised with horror that this was not, in fact, her bed. Where was she? What had she done?

“You’re awake,” a very rough version of what she recognised as Violet’s voice came from somewhere beside her, “I wasn’t sure you’d survived.”

“Are you sure this isn’t Heaven?” Amelia mumbled into the pillow, “You’re here, after all.”

Violet laughed - her short, sharp bark of a laugh that made Amelia wince. “Are you trying to tell me I’m an angel?”

Amelia groaned noncommittally and rolled over to face Violet. Violet who looked as dishevelled as she felt - her hair a mess, shift slipping off one shoulder, dark circles under her eyes. But if Violet was feeling the effects of last night, she didn’t show it. She reached over and pried the empty bottle of gin from Amelia’s grip and placed it on a chair next to the bed.

Violet eyed Amelia - her gaze travelling up and down her body, appraising her. “I like you like this. Messy suits you.”

Amelia laughed lightly, and rolled over to face the ceiling. The previous night only existed in her memory as fleeting moments. The Wells’ party, spiced wine, two men getting into a bloody fistfight over a woman, the whole affair spilling out onto the street, a bottle of gin, kissing Violet, climbing to the rooftop of a building and howling into the night. Between there and Violet’s bed was a mystery. Not one that was hard to solve, of course.

Violet darted forward and pressed a quick kiss to Amelia’s cheek, before rolling over and slipping out of the bed. “You need to eat.”

Amelia groaned and closed her eyes. The thought of food made her stomach turn.

“It’ll make you feel better, trust me.”

“Come back to bed,” Amelia protested, “Look after me.”

Violet lingered indecisively at the doorway for a moment. Then her resolve broke and she gave in, padding back to the bed and slipping under the sheets. She wrapped an arm around Amelia’s waist and pulled her close, pressing a kiss gently to Amelia’s forehead.

“I want to look after you. Forever.” Violet breathed, her words ghosting across Amelia’s cheek. Amelia smiled, and tilted her head slightly to meet Violet’s gaze. There was a sincerity in her dark eyes that Amelia had never seen before and it made her feel as if her heart might burst.

And Amelia realised, suddenly, just how much she loved Violet. She was messy and unpredictable, a thief and a harlot. But God did not make mistakes, and He drew their paths together for a reason. Violet did not need saving or changing, she needed to be loved. As Amelia needed to be loved. 

“We’ll look after each other,” Amelia murmured, leaning forward slightly to capture Violet’s lips in a soft, gentle kiss. 

When they parted, Violet let her forehead fall against Amelia’s and closed her eyes, “You still want to run away together?”

Amelia laughed, a low gentle rumble. “Where should we go?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who read and commented and left kudos on these lil fics! I've had so much fun writing them and I really thought I'd be basically just writing them for myself.
> 
> Also, I didn't get the chance to finish one of the prompts I was really keen on so I'm in the process of turning it into a longer fic, so if you enjoyed the winter theme then there's more to come :)

**Author's Note:**

> You can find the prompts on my tumblr, I'm ameliascanwell!


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